At length the rain ceased, and the sun shone more brightly than before, at least, so it appeared to me after the storm. I hastened to the green-house, but what was my astonishment on perceiving that my mistress had left it. I now gave myself up as lost, for I knew that I was unable either to provide for or defend myself. All the dangers the goldfinch had encountered, rushed on my imagination, and all seemed to threaten me, young and defenceless as I was. Time, though it passed heavily with me, passed on. The sun, fast sinking in the west, indicated the decline of day, and I contemplated, with extreme terror, the approach of night. I frequently thought of my father and mother, and our comfortable little nest. I had once some idea of retiring to it for the night; but how could I be sure of safety there? My parents were no longer in it to protect me: besides, though I had never slept out alone, I had reason to think that the night air must be very chilly, as our parents always took such care to keep us warm; and I already felt cold and comfortless, for every leaf was wet, and I so tired of hopping about, that I could no longer keep myself warm by exercise. Amidst this assemblage of misfortunes, I had just sense enough to keep near the green-house. The surrounding shrubbery was very beautiful, but to me, at present, its charms were all lost. The birds, too, that inhabited it, sung very sweetly; but the voice of my mistress, or the sound of her approaching footsteps, would have been much sweeter to me. At length, when I had nearly lost all hope, I was aroused by the shutting of the green-house door, and the following instant I heard my beloved mistress calling me, as she was accustomed to do, by imitating the chirping of a bird. I answered, in accents half joyful, hair mournful, for I was nearly starved with cold and hunger, and overjoyed at meeting with her again. She followed the sound of my voice, and I, as soon as I saw her, flew into a little tuft of ivy, close to where she stood, that she might see me; and there I remained quietly, till she took me gently in her hand to convey me home. I was glad enough to see the school-room again, and well contented, after a plentiful feeding, to retire to rest on my accustomed music-book. On the following morning, my companion, the goldfinch, informed me of what had passed in my absence. My mistress returning without me excited no surprise, as she frequently shut me up in her own room, that I might be at liberty, without interrupting her business in the school-room; but one of the children happening to enquire where I was, my flight was proclaimed. All the young people evinced great regret, but my mistress told them she had no doubt that I should be much happier out of doors; adding, “You know I never intended keeping him a prisoner, and have, therefore, frequently taken him out, that he might learn to provide for himself.” “I fear he cannot do that yet,” said Clara.